


Normalcy

by FluffyKasady



Category: Marvel
Genre: Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Peter is an adult in this, Peter is depressed, alcohol consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 22:16:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16250879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyKasady/pseuds/FluffyKasady
Summary: In a brightly dim world, sometimes Pete needs a pep talk.





	Normalcy

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first fic I've ever written for the Marvel Fandom, welcome everyone who reads it lol Sorry if its ooc or whatever, not really concerned about that here. This is how I interpret what I read/watch, this is how I see them.

He’s sitting on the edge of the balcony when the glass door slides open. Neither of them are in uniform, the tower allowing them a semblance of normalcy in their otherwise chaotic lives. He doesn’t glance back to see who it is; the heavy army boots that thump against the concrete floor of the balcony gives Cap away every time.

 

There’s a clink of ice on glass that sounds rhythmically with his steps. That’s right, there was a party going on inside. Some kind of celebration marking the Avengers anniversary. Or something like that, you’d think he’d be all over the party scene but here he is, outside, all lonely and moping.

 

Cap doesn’t say anything, just moves up to lean on the railing beside him, sipping silently at his bourbon as the two of them look off into the distant lights of the city below. It’s pretty peaceful, this time of night. This high up at least, he isn’t naive enough to believe that there aren’t criminals using the shadows to their advantage at this exact moment. It’s his job to stop them, to protect the sleeping families and children that live in the city around them.

 

But right now all he can feel is the sludge in his chest that keeps him rooted to his spot.

 

The good thing about Cap is, he doesn’t bullshit. He’s a man of the past, all no nonsense and wisdom, and when he speaks you better damn well listen because he’s not talking out of his ass. The guy’s been around long enough to know a thing or two about a thing or two. That's why he’s in charge.

 

So when he turns his head and gives Peter a look, Peter knows exactly what he wants to say. He needs to talk to someone, anyone. Needs to get some of the bad thoughts out of his head, either to a friend or to a shrink, but neither option sounds super great. If he could he’d push all of it down and away, into the deep dark part of his brain where the demons live in chains. But of course, that’s how he gets into these messes of inactivity and mopeyness in the first place. 

 

Maybe it would be better to talk. To someone. About some of it. He tries to think about it some days, but then the pain starts up and won’t stop until he dismisses the notion from his mind and near promises himself he won’t do it. Still, aren’t promises made to be broken?

 

“My uncle died when I was sixteen.”

 

Cap is looking back out at the city, his glass raised to his lips once more, and even though he doesn’t react Peter knows he’s listening.

 

“Some crook had tried to take his car, his money, and when my uncle didn’t comply right away he shot him.” There was more to the story than that. So much damn more, so many pieces of shattered memories tied together in a web of pain and anguish. But Cap seems to understand even without him saying any of it.

 

“You thought it was your fault.”

 

Peter scoffs, wiping a hand down his face as he lets a leg dangle off the edge of the balcony. “It was my fault. My fault completely, I could have stopped the guy.”

 

Its Cap’s turn to scoff, his body seeming to creak a little as he leans down to rest against the balcony. “Son, I can tell you right now that nothing you could or would have done would have saved him."

 

Peter looks away, blinking. “Thanks, Steve, that helps a hell of a lot, I feel so much better now.”

 

There’s a chuckle, another clink of ice against glass and an audible swallow as Cap takes another drink before speaking. “You needed to hear the truth. If your uncle was meant to be dead, then you have to accept it. It’s in the past now.” He says it like its a fact of life.

 

Maybe it is. Maybe he’s holding on to something that can never change, will never change. Uncle Ben is dead. That’s all there is to it.

 

The thoughts lift something in his chest, a heaviness that he instinctively knew was there but didn’t really notice until it was gone. Uncle Ben was dead. Maybe it was his fault, maybe it wasn’t. 

 

Sighing, his breath leaving a poof of white air in front of him, Peter stares into the lights of the city, Cap at his side.


End file.
